


and anywhere, i would have followed you

by rumpledlinen



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledlinen/pseuds/rumpledlinen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’ve been with me too long, popstar," Nick says, shaking his head. "You’re barely nineteen and you’re willing to stay in all night with an old man."</p>
<p>"Hey," Harry says, long and drawn-out. He pulls Nick in for a hug, presses close. "You’re not old, or boring, and I won’t hear anything else. Okay?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>or: Harry comes back to Nick's on a break, just in time for snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and anywhere, i would have followed you

**Author's Note:**

> for swamiface's prompt of "snow, lights, home: harry/nick" on tumblr. i'm sorry for the fluff. blame her entirely.
> 
> disclaimer: title from a great big world's "say something". i don't own the boys; this isn't real, etc. 
> 
> i'm also on [twitter](http://twitter.com/doinwhatwedo)& [tumblr](http://guillotineheart.tumblr.com), if you want to hit me up ! :)

Nick gets the call just after his show.

He doesn’t bother looking at the screen, figures it’s Aimee or maybe his mother, answers and holds the phone between his ear and shoulder. “‘lo?” he asks. His voice is rough from too much use, and he clears his throat. "Sorry, hello?"

"Hiya!" Harry's voice says. He's laughing a little bit. "You busy?"

Nick pauses, fumbling his keys and dropping them. He bends down to pick them up and curses, digging through the snow. “Not really,” he says. “Was just gonna have some lunch, watch _Bake-Off_.”

Harry hums, doesn't answer. 

If Nick listens carefully, he can hear the outside, a car horn honking. “Are you driving?” he asks, laughing a little bit. “Harold, I’m surprised at you.”

Nick can _hear_ Harry roll his eyes. “Got a driver, you twat,” he murmurs.

Nick waits, but he doesn’t continue. “So did you want to do something tonight?” he asks.

Harry hums. “Was wondering if you wanted to hang out,” he says. “Anything, really, I’m starving.”

"You don’t want to see your mum?" Nick asks, voice purposefully light. He finally gets in the car and puts his phone on speaker, setting it on the dashboard. "Maybe Gems?"

"Not really," Harry says. "But hey, if you’re -"

"None of that," Nick says. He presses his lips together; he’s been dying to see Harry for ages. He pulls out of the car park. "I’ll be home in ten minutes, and I’m locking the door and getting comfy in fifteen."

Harry laughs, delighted. Nick hears him mumble something to the driver, and then he’s back, sounding a million times more relaxed than he had before. “I’ll be there. Maybe even before you.”

"Just try," Nick says, and shuts off his phone.

Harry is there before Nick, which is infuriating. He’s got a gaggle of girls around him, signing autographs and smiling. His driver, a tall, imposing woman, is standing outside the car. She nods at Nick, flashes a smile.

"Popstar!" Nick calls, and Harry turns, relief in the set of his shoulders. "Get inside." He looks at all the girls, forces a sympathetic frown. "He’s knackered, have you all got your pictures?"

They nod, looking disappointed, but after a few moments and _I love you, Harry!_ s they leave.

Puppy runs circles around them, but they manage to get Harry’s things inside and he all but collapses on the couch, shaking his head. “I’m done,” he says. “I’m quitting being a popstar. I’m going to be a world-renowned baker, going to open a shop in London called _Styles’ Sweets_ and cut my hair off and -“ He pets Puppy throughout his rambling, eyes shut, scritching behind her ear. 

"Hey," Nick says, rubbing his shoulders, sitting down next to him. "You love it, though."

"I know." Harry turns on his side, curls up. He looks so small like this, so at home in Nick’s flat.

Nick swallows past the rush of emotion and grins at him, ruffling his fringe. “You need a wash, popstar.”

"Too tired," Harry murmurs. He grabs the throw over the back of the couch, tugs it over him. He opens his eyes, bites his lip. "Mind if I nap?"

"Sleep as long as you like," because while he’d usually take the piss Harry looks small and fragile and Nick can’t bring himself to be mean about him. He smiles. “I’ll make you a proper London dinner when you get up, yeah?”

“You can’t cook,” Harry says, but the words are already slurred together and he falls asleep before Nick can answer him.

Nick just shakes his head, fond, and makes himself a sandwich.

Harry wakes up in the middle of the afternoon, when Nick’s having a glass of wine and flicking through Tumblr. Appears everyone’d seen Harry show up at Nick’s, and the theories are  _endless_ as to why Nick had been so keen to get him inside. 

Puppy's wagging her tail, nose pressed on Harry's stomach, whimpering. "Quiet," Nick calls, but the damage is done. 

Harry snuffles and sits up. His hair’s all mussed up, body still tired, but he looks more alert now. “‘lo,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. 

"Morning, popstar," Nick says, smiling over at him. He doesn’t get up and kiss him, no matter how adorable he looks, sleepy eyes and soft hands curled into fists. He’s a fucking saint, really. "How’d you sleep?"

"All right," Harry says on a yawn. He blinks, and grins. "Thought of a new name for my bakery, too."

"Yeah? What’s that?" Nick asks, shutting his laptop and taking a sip of wine. 

Harry giggles - fucking  _giggles_ , honestly - and stretches. “ _Half-Baked_ ,” he says.

Nick stares at him and laughs, shaking his head. “You’ll make millions,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

"Already make millions, don’t I," Harry grumbles. "Now come here, I want a cuddle."

"You’re the most demanding popstar I’ve ever met," Nick says but gets up anyway, leaves the wine and just flops down next to him. 

Harry burrows his face into Nick’s neck, breathing out, content. 

Nick’s pretty sure his heart stops, and that he’s not being entirely overdramatic. “You’re cuddly,” he says, for lack of anything better to say (anything that isn’t  _I want to kiss you and also fuck you and see how cuddly you are then_ ). 

"Did you forget while I was away?" Harry asks, amused.

"Nah," Nick says, presses his face against the top of Harry’s head for just a second. 

Harry sits up, then, smiling. He turns around and looks out the window. The snow’s falling more heavily now, and Harry’s eyes light up. “Wanna go for a walk,” he says, grinning at Nick.

Nick raises an eyebrow. “You’ll be mobbed.”

Harry pouts. “Later, then,” he says on a nod. “I’ll bundle up and so will you, we’ll leave in the middle of the night.”

"I have work tomorrow!" Nick says, but it’s an empty protest and Harry knows it. 

Harry smiles. 

"All right, but on one condition," Nick says. "Please, for the love of everything, wash your bloody hair."

Harry grins. “Come with me, then,” he says, holding Nick’s fingers and pulling him upstairs.

Nick takes a moment to reflect on the situation he’s gotten himself into, when they’re in the bathroom together.

Evidently they’re reliant enough on one another that Harry feels the need to  _have him in the bathroom_ when he’s washing his hair for fifteen minutes. The infuriating part is that Nick feels the same, doesn’t want to leave Harry’s side even for a moment.

He’s on the sink, flicking through his phone. Harry’s sat in front of him on his knees, shirt off, head dunked under the tub spout. 

Nick is most definitely not watching the way his back muscles shift with every movement of his arms, the way he can see the tattoos when Harry twists a certain way. He swallows, stares up at the ceiling, sends up a prayer that he’s sure will go unanswered.  _Fuck_.

Harry sits up, reaching out blindly for a towel, and mops up his hair. He grins at Nick when he’s through drying it off. “Better?”

Nick reaches out, cards his fingers through the curls. He quirks an eyebrow. “Passable, I suppose,” he says, but he can’t keep the fondness out of his voice. 

Harry smirks at him, reaching out to lace their fingers together again. “Bake-Off and dinner?” he asks, hopeful.

"You’ve been with me too long, popstar," Nick says, shaking his head. "You’re barely nineteen and you’re willing to stay in all night with an old man."

"Hey," Harry says, long and drawn-out. He pulls Nick in for a hug, presses close. 

"You’re getting me all wet," Nick grumbles, but he wraps his arms around Harry’s back, holds tight. 

"You’re not old, or boring," Harry says, "and I won’t hear anything else. Okay?"

Nick laughs. “All right, all right.” He pushes Harry back so that he can hop off the counter. “You’re getting chicken,” he says, because he’s on a diet and Harry’s reminded him of that, with his lean, muscly body. 

"Perfect," Harry says. He tugs his shirt back on. Nick tries not to be upset about that fact. 

They eat in front of the telly, close enough that their elbows brush. They only half-watch, Harry telling Nick about touring, about sold-out shows and paparazzi. Nick tells Harry about Puppy, about Aimee and Ian, about the Breakfast Show. His life is woefully inadequate next to Harry’s, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind, seems genuinely interested in everything Nick has to say.

That’s the thing about Harry, though. Every person he talks to, he looks at like they’re the sun.

Nick has to close his eyes against it sometimes, tamp down the want that he feels—because Harry’s nineteen and on top of the world and Nick can’t really offer him anything, can barely manage to take care of a dog when it’s only one-third his. 

Harry nudges him at a commercial break, frowning. “What’s wrong?” he asks, setting his plate to the side.

"Nothing," Nick says. "Not all of us got to take a several-hour nap, Styles."

Harry smiles, but there’s worry at the edges of his eyes. “Seriously,” he says. “What’s wrong? Would you rather me not be here?” He looks down, almost self-conscious. “I know you like going out and stuff—and we can do that, just not tonight.”

He wants to stay more than one night. Christ, Nick’s in over his head.

Nick doesn’t say anything, and Harry curls up against him, rests his head on Nick’s shoulder like before.

It’s comfortable. 

Nick’s heart flips. 

 

They bundle up and sneak out of the flat. 

Harry’s got his hair and eyes covered, and he looks absolutely ridiculous. Nick tells him, and Harry sticks out his tongue. Nick doesn’t kiss him.

He deserves a fucking medal.

They walk around, hands linked together because there’s no one to stop them. The streetlights are the only illumination, and Nick stares at their footprints. Harry’s are bigger than his, he notices. Nearly ten years younger and he’s so much bigger, so much  _brighter_ _._

"I have something I need to tell you," Harry says, quick. 

Nick frowns at him. “What’s that?”

Harry presses his lips together. He stops them, turns so he’s facing Nick. “I missed you,” he says, soft, intimate. 

Nick smiles. “I missed you too, love.”

"No, I mean—" Harry makes a frustrated noise and steps forward, hands resting on Nick’s chest. "I  _missed_ you,” he says, and leans up to kiss Nick. 

Nick stays still for about two seconds, and then he kisses Harry  _back_ , hands resting on Harry’s hips. 

Harry pulls back, just enough to talk. “Fuck,” he breathes, and “Yeah?”

"Yeah," Nick says with a smile, kissing him again. A car drives by, and they jump apart from one another. 

Harry smiles, reaching up to his lips. “Can we go back to yours?” he asks, hope and promise at the edge of his voice.

Nick’s eyes widen. “ _Jesus_ , yeah,” he says, kissing Harry one more time. 

Harry goes inside first, and pushes the door shut and then Nick against it. He shrugs off his jacket and hat, tossing them onto the couch. 

Nick smiles, comfortable with his back against the wall. He traces down Harry’s cheekbone, and leans in to kiss him, soft. 

Harry breathes out sharp and kisses him back, stepping between Nick’s legs and running a hand over Nick’s hair, fingers curling in the back. 

"Fuck," Nick breathes, "you want?" and he’s not making sense, feels drugged already and they’ve kissed twice, fuck. 

Harry smiles, and nods. There’s something feral in his eyes.

Nick kisses him like he’s wanted to for ages. He licks his way into Harry’s mouth and wraps his arms around his waist, kissing him hard enough to bruise. 

Harry gasps and Nick kisses his neck, bites down on his pulse point. Harry lets out something like a groan and presses their hips together. Nick’s already half-hard and he wants so much, but -

"Can I blow you?" he asks, whispers in Harry’s ear. He presses his hand against the front of Harry’s skin-tight trousers. 

"Fuck—yeah—" Harry gasps out.

Nick sinks to his knees and unzips the trousers, pushing them down to Harry’s knees. He wants to get Harry properly naked, study every inch of him, but there’ll be time for that later (he hopes— _jesus_ , he wants another turn at this). Now, he just wants.  

It’s been a while since he’s done this so he starts off slowly, hand at the base, just licking at the head. 

Harry groans, thunking his head back against the wall. He presses the fingers of his hand against Nick’s shoulder. He’s already shaking, Nick can feel where he’s holding onto Harry’s hip.

Nick goes down slowly, staring up at him. Harry opens his eyes and looks down at him, and groans again, unconsciously shifting his hips further in. 

Nick makes a noise but doesn’t pull off. 

Harry groans again, whispers “Fuck, Nick—you’re—” and comes down Nick’s throat. 

Nick swallows and cleans him off before Harry sinks down next to him, looking dazed and pleased. 

"I’ll last longer next time," Harry whispers, smiling dopily. "Was just—s’you, you know?"

_Next time_ , Nick thinks, and it’s almost enough to make him forget about his own hard-on, pressing against his trousers. He shifts a little bit.

Harry kisses Nick, bites his lip, and presses his hand against Nick’s cock. 

"Fuck," Nick breathes, tilting his head back. 

Harry gets zip down and starts stroking him, quickly, leaning in to whisper in Nick’s ear. ”Want you to fuck me later,” he gets out, “fuck me hard enough I feel it for days.”

Nick shudders and comes, letting out soft gasps until he calms down. 

Harry curls up against him again, resting his head on Nick’s leg. “So,” he says.

Nick laughs. 

"I’m going to be honest," Harry says, "I don’t want this to be a one-time thing." He pauses. "Or casual."

Nick raises an eyebrow. “That right?” and he can barely keep the hope out of his voice. 

Harry nods, twisting a thread between his fingers. “Yeah,” he says. “That okay?”

Nick smiles, shrugs down so he’s lying next to Harry. He kisses him on the forehead. “I think that’s brilliant,” he says.

Harry lets out a soft, relieved sigh. “Good,” he whispers.

Nick manages to get them up and to the bed, Harry dropping like a log onto the sheets. Nick changes his pants and crawls in after him, wrapping around Harry. “Welcome home, popstar,” he whispers.

Harry shifts, and kisses Nick’s nose. He murmurs, almost indiscernible, “Home.”

 


End file.
